


feels so hot

by fruti2flutie



Category: UP10TION
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 14:38:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7109545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruti2flutie/pseuds/fruti2flutie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a penniless college student who can’t handle spice attempts to finish a plate of jalapeño poppers. is it good idea? no, no it is not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	feels so hot

**Author's Note:**

> who am i, what is plot, what have i done

Gyujin cannot handle spicy food. There had been an era of his childhood where the neighborhood bullies would force red hot chili peppers down his throat, seeds and all, and the unfortunate memories have tainted the flavor for his last ten years of living. Now, the second anything that comes remotely close to the Scoville scale touches his tongue he breaks out into droplets of sweat, lips blooming red. There are things out there that aren’t fit for human consumption, he’d say while struggling to hold back tears, crunching on a tortilla chip with a dollop of mild salsa.

Oh, but Han Gyujin _never_ goes down without a fight.

“This is going to send you the the hospital,” Hwanhee says, but he doesn’t make any attempt to stop Gyujin and instead taps the record button on his phone’s camera. (Watching his hyung suffer is one of his favorite pastimes, honestly.)

“I’m fine,” coughs Gyujin, clearly _not_ fine. His nose is running and his lips are starting to become as swollen as Jinwook’s, who is notorious for thick lips and being petty.

The taunting pitcher of water is across the table in front of Dongyeol, who grips the handle and waits for Gyujin to start crying. “You can do it, hyung! Almost half a plate left!” (He, too, enjoys watching Gyujin suffer.)

Earlier in the evening, the young trio had decided to go out and celebrate successfully getting through their first year of college without dropping out or failing any classes. Recently, Hwanhee and Dongyeol have wanted to try a new local restaurant and have also wanted to get together with Gyujin. It’s a classic “kill two birds with one stone” scenario, but the animal lover Gyujin dislikes the idiom and would rather say, “Let’s eat ‘til we pass out!” Although all of them are still conscious, their bellies had been rapidly growing stuffed.

Gyujin, however, had felt that he could eat just _one_ more dish to reach the extent of fullness he desired. And, according to the bright smiley faces by its name on the menu, the jalapeño poppers are the best in town.

So, in the present, Gyujin has been struggling for the last ten minutes to finish one plate of the dish, which only has six decently-sized poppers. Hwanhee and Dongyeol munch and crunch on their fried pickles together — Hwanhee teasingly holds pieces in front of Dongyeol’s mouth, just out of reach — as Gyujin refuses to surrender to his food, his white flag impossible to procure.

“Holy cheese sticks,” curses Gyujin, the closest he’ll ever get to vulgar language, swallowing the third popper and having the spice burn his throat on the way down. He regrets not styling his hair, because his fringe sticks to his forehead with sweat and anguish.

“What time is it, Xiao?” Hwanhee asks tunefully, tickling Dongyeol’s chin like he’s a golden retriever. “Xiao? My puppy, Xiao?”

Dongyeol slaps at Hwanhee’s hand and then checks his phone. “Almost eleven,” he answers. “This place closes soon, I think.”

Hwanhee nudges Gyujin’s foot from under the table and warns, “You better hurry up, hyung. The manager here is no joke. I heard he lifts truck tires instead of weights at the gym.”

Gyujin blubbers nonsense, mouth full with half of the fourth popper. With his hands he makes exaggerated gestures that he hopes his friends can understand as, “ _Don’t worry — I got this_.” Hwanhee and Dongyeol hardly look swayed, but Gyujin wipes the sweat off his thick brow and shoots a finger gun. “ _I am not dying_ ,” is what it roughly translates to.

“I’m heading to the little boys’ room,” Dongyeol announces, pushing out his chair. “Gotta pee.”

A mischievous smile spreads on Hwanhee’s face and he gets up as well. “I have to go, too. Wait for me!”

While his two friends are in the bathroom, Gyujin finishes the fourth popper and drops his head onto the table, moaning. Given that closing time is only a few minutes away, no customer is around to witness his desperation. Caving, he pours himself a full cup of water and chugs it down, hissing when he drains the whole glass. Only two more to go.

“Is it too hot?”

Gyujin looks up quickly and searches for where the voice had come from. There is a guy, wearing a backwards snapback and oversized glasses, who fiddles with his apron and vaguely resembles a cooked rice cake. He looks like a college student, around Gyujin’s age, a bit nerdy and sleepy-eyed. Surely the low-toned voice hadn’t come from him, but just to be sure...

“Were you talking to me?” asks Gyujin, sticking a finger to his chest. The guy nods, not particularly off put by the question, and adjusts his glasses. Gyujin blinks, taken aback, and stammers, “Uh, um, I can’t— I mean I _can_ take the heat, but I’m not that _good_ at it.”

The guy chuckles, “You look a little too worse for wear to be saying it like that. You’re hard to believe.” His voice doesn’t match his appearance in the slightest — he’s way too bright to be in the lower register.

Gyujin, despite having the urge to breathe fire, musters a shaky smile. “Who are you to tell me what I am or am not?” he quips playfully, taking the fifth popper and shoving the entire piece into his mouth. Instant regret ensues because the burn is unreal, and he has to scream internally while he tries to swallow it whole. Unfortunately, it works.

“I’m Lee Changhyun, one of the chefs here,” says the guy, bowing formally for a few seconds and beaming as he straightens. “And you are?”

Instinctively bowing his head, Gyujin introduces himself with his name and adds wittily, “I’m a customer here!”

Changhyun’s mouth is ajar as he nods. “That’s why I came talk to you,” he proclaims. “It’s past closing time, and it’s my day to clean and close up the shop — Manager’s orders, can’t say otherwise. I don’t think I can do that with you still...” He purses his lips and points to Gyujin’s plate. “No offense.”

“None taken,” says Gyujin. He holds the last popper between his thumb and index finger, taking a deep breath and nearly falling into a coughing fit at the leftover spiciness in his mouth. “This’ll just take another minute,” he grunts.

“Do you mind if I sit? Standing for so long is going to hurt my legs,” Changhyun hums. Gyujin gestures to the empty chair across from him. Changhyun takes the seat and says, “Thank you.”

Gyujin nods. He stares at the popper, secretly wishing it’d magically disappear in thin air, but alas, it remains fully tangible. “My friends are here, too,” he declares casually, “so they’ll come and pay their share when they get back.”

Looking around, Changhyun asks, puzzled, “So where are they, then?”

“The toilets,” snorts Gyujin. Squeezing his eyes shut, he bites half the popper and chews quickly while he explains, “Dongyeol acts like an almost trained house pet most of the time, and Hwanhee has the bladder the size of a toddler’s.”

“Sounds inconvenient,” Changhyun notes, bemused.

“ _Never_ go on road trips with the either of them. Every other hour is a bathroom break,” Changhyun says, recalling those frustrating summer vacations back in high school. (A ride to the zoo had taken an extra half hour because of Hwanhee’s bowels. Gyujin hadn’t even gotten to see the giraffes!) He eats the last of the final popper and throws both arms high in the air. “Done!” he exclaims. “Fwah, I feel accomplished.”

“Applause,” says Changhyun, eagerly clapping his hands together. Gyujin takes a bow, like an actor does at the end of their play. “You performed admirably, customer. Want me to get the bill?”

“Please do.”

Changhyun rises and scurries to the register, sticking his hands behind his back and flapping them like a baby bird’s wings. Gyujin takes the opportunity to drink straight from the pitcher of water and then dab at his skin with several napkins. (Hazily, he wonders if this is how Sooil, Jinwook’s dormmate, deals with his overactive sweat glands.) Gyujin hopes that Changhyun doesn’t find him too odd, because the chef is sweet and makes his cheeks pink — or maybe that’s the jalapeño residue. Gosh, he needs milk.

When Changhyun returns he holds out the check, hands it to Gyujin, and returns to his chair. “For you, young sir.”

If Gyujin had been drinking water, he’d have choked and done a meter-long spit take after seeing the total. “That’s— This is a lot more than I expected,” stutters Gyujin, clearing his throat.

“Good thing you’re splitting the tab,” says Changhyun. He glances around and comments, concerned, “Your friends have been taking a long time.”

As Gyujin recalls a memorable Port-A-Potty incident with Hwanhee, where he’d received copious amounts of blackmail material, he’s interrupted by his phone vibrating in his pocket. Taking it out to check, it appears Dongyeol has sent him a selfie of him and Hwanhee, who is angled to kiss Dongyeol’s cheek. Below the photo is the caption:

_thanks for the meal, hyung~ xoxo_

Gyujin is momentarily struck speechless. He doesn’t normally get angry, but he’s flabbergasted at this turn of events. “Those dirty, rotten tomatoes,” he grits through clenched teeth. Changhyun gives him a curious tilt of the head, and he seethes, “My friends are horrible human beings and ditched me.”

Frowning, Changhyun pushes up his glasses and asks, “Does one of them have bubblegum pink hair? And the other have a loud, whiny voice?” Surprised at the accurate descriptions of his friends, Gyujin nods. “Yeah, they do that. A while back, Minsoo hyung said they left some guy with lips like—” Changhyun puckers his lips, resembling a goby fish out of water, “—and made him pay for all the food.”

“Oh, poor Jinwook hyung,” mutters Gyujin, running a hand through his hair. It’s a little sweaty, but he’s cooled down quite a bit since the first jalapeño popper. “I should’ve known better than to trust that duo,” he sighs. “Give me a minute to figure out why I hang out with them.”

Then, Changhyun inquires rather bluntly, “Are you broke?”

“I’m in college,” responds Gyujin, which is enough of an answer as any. As he reaches for his wallet, however, he realizes there is only enough to pay for half the bill. He had prepared for one-third, not for one- _whole_. Peering at Changhyun with his best puppy-eyes, he asks feebly, “Will you accept an ‘IOU’?”

“Last time I agreed, Manager threatened to light my paycheck on fire if I ever did it again.”

“Drat,” groans Gyujin. “I’m sorry, man, I don’t have the money. I’m short.” He rubs his hands together and pleads desperately, “Don’t take me to jail — I’m too young, too funny, and have too much potential.”

“Hey, we can make a deal,” declares Changhyun, grinning. Gyujin’s eyebrows crease, interest piqued, as he leans in closer to hear the proposition. “Help me out here.”

“What, is that it?” says Gyujin, confused. “Help you clean the restaurant?”

Changhyun’s mouth stretches widely across his face, and he makes a little noise of glee. “I don’t wanna be alone. I’ll take care of what you can’t pay after we’re all done.”

“Deal,” Gyujin confirms swiftly. Menial labor, like sweeping or lifting chairs, beats hefty fines or incarceration any day. “What do you need me to do?”

—

The kitchen is empty, but there are loud clanging sounds coming from the vents and the refrigerators as they continue to run. A few of the lights are dimmer than the others, but everything is still visible. There are pots and pans on the stovetops and leftover ingredients fallen on the floor. Changhyun is washing dishes, humming, placing the soaked objects on the rack to dry. On one of the counters on the other side of the room Gyujin is seated on a swivel stool, spinning back and forth, coloring in a cartoon dragon with a pack of sixty-four crayons.

“Okay, I’m going to be honest here. This was not what I was expecting,” he says, coloring the dragon’s horns red. When Changhyun had given him the kids’ coloring book, Gyujin thought he was joking. Amazingly enough, Changhyun had _seriously_ told him to pick a blank page to color as he cleaned the kitchen. Who had Gyujin been to refuse? “Are you sure you don’t want me to do something — I don’t know — _more_ productive?”

Changhyun shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good,” he says dismissively. “Tell me when you finish the dragon. I wanna see how it turns out.”

Gyujin heaves a sigh. “Look, man, it’s not that I don’t like _not_ doing work. Not doing work is great! Easy on the eyes, easy on the mind.” He sets down his crayon, craning his neck to Changhyun. “Except _you_ ’re busy cleaning, and all I’m doing is _coloring_. Doesn’t that sound a little unfair to you?”

“But I told you to do that.”

“That’s not the point,” counters Gyujin. “Let me _actually_ help you. I’ll feel better about myself if you let me.”

Pursing his lips, Changhyun turns and tosses a wrung-out dishrag to Gyujin, who catches it in one hand. “If you _really_ want to,” he says. “Get your butt over here and scrub some dirt— Ah! Not dirt. We don’t serve dirt.” He covers his mouth. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”

Gyujin chuckles, “Gotcha.”

As he stands beside Changhyun, they function in an assembly-line fashion, Gyujin scrubbing the dishes and then handing them off for Changhyun to dry. Whistling as they work, every so often their shoulders bump and the two of them share an impish giggle. Changhyun is pretty cute, face round and cheerful as he smiles at Gyujin.

“So,” Gyujin begins, when they’ve finished most of the dishes, “you’re a chef. What’s that like?”

“I like to cook! Cooking is fun! And it’s relaxing,” says Changhyun. “This is only a temporary gig, though. I only work here because the owner is my uncle; plus there’s a decent payout.” He coyly nudges Gyujin’s arm with his fist. “At the end of the day, I’m a college kid like you.”

“Oh, really? What are you studying?”

Changhyun bites his lip, shy, and answers, “Fine Arts. Dance.”

Gyujin’s eyes widen comically. “ _Dance_? Seriously?” Changhyun nods, and he looks prouder after he’s revealed it. “You... You don’t look like a dancer. I was expecting, uh... um...”

“Anything but dance?” Guiltily, Gyujin nods. “A lot of people say that, but I don’t mind,” says Changhyun, shrugging. “What about you?”

“Oh, well...” Gyujin laughs nervously. “I’m not failing,” he offers halfheartedly. Changhyun snickers. “Hey! I’ve finished my first year of college — I’m steadily making my way to adult living.”

Changhyun leers suddenly, “You’re younger than me, mister.” He chirps, “Call me hyung!”

Gyujin laughs, “Hyung.”

Face blank, Changhyun deadpans, “That was much easier than I anticipated.” He smacks his lips and sniffles, drying a plate Gyujin hands to him sulkily. “What are you interested in? Do you have any ideas?”

“Not really,” says Gyujin. “I don’t think I’m incredibly passionate when it comes down to specifics. Nothing jumps out at me and tells me, ‘this is your what you’re going to do for the rest of your life’.”

“Are you sure?”

Gyujin frowns, hands pausing on the bowl he’d been wiping. “What do you mean?”

“There has to be _something_ ,” insists Changhyun. “When you were small, you must’ve had a dream. Far-fetched and impossible, an idea that felt like it couldn’t even graze your fingertips.” Behind his glasses, his eyes are soft yet imploring. “Tell me.”

Gyujin wonders what makes Changhyun so persuasive. No, it’s not that he’s persuading, per se. Changhyun has an innate desire for the truth. Everything about him is _real_ , and he wants to pull out the same characteristics in himself out of Gyujin. And Gyujin, the pure and naive boy whose only requirements for his ideal type is the ability to pull off white shirts, listens to him.

“I wanted to be a pilot,” confesses Gyujin, embarrassed. “Head in the sky, arms touching the clouds. Flying a plane sounded so cool when I was a toddler. There was something about being that high in the air above me that really— really captured my attention.”

“And do you still think that?”

Gyujin takes a few seconds, wondering, and lets out a small laugh. “Yeah, I do.” Changhyun puts down his rag and walks away, silent, and Gyujin has to call out, “Where are you going?”

Changhyun turns to him, blinking. “I’m gonna find a plane. Do you wanna come along?”

Gyujin’s eyebrows pinch together in confusion, _absolute_ confusion, and he asks, flustered, “What about the restaurant?”

“Oh,” says Changhyun. He quickly resumes his position drying the dishes and proposes, “Let’s finish cleaning first, lock up. And _then_ we’re gonna find a plane.”

It sounds ridiculous. It _is_ ridiculous. Gyujin should tell Changhyun that he can’t go along with it. Where are they going to find a plane? _Why_ are they going to find a plane? Changhyun smiles at him, hopeful, and maybe it’ll all make sense down the line.

“Okay,” Gyujin laughs, shaking his head. “Whatever you say, hyung.”

—

There’s a cool breeze rustling Gyujin’s hair as he steps outside the restaurant. The street lights are like fireflies in the forest, and a few steps ahead of him Changhyun is the wandering deer. Prancing and skipping, Changhyun leads him deeper into the city, closer and closer to the heart of mystery.

“Not that I don’t love a good walk through the city with a total stranger,” Gyujin starts, hands stuffed in his pockets, “but can I ask where the heck we’re going?”

Changhyun turns to him briefly and replies, “To the sky.” The lens of his glasses reflect the moon, and Gyujin momentarily believes he’s seen an apparition of the night. And then he rewinds to five seconds ago, to Changhyun’s answer.

“Wait, what?”

Gleefully, Changhyun reiterates, “To the _sky_ , Gyujin! We’re gonna find you a plane, so you can soar high in the sky like the pilot you’re meant to be.”

“There are so many things wrong with that statement,” Gyujin mutters, wrinkling his nose.

“Wrong—” Changhyun turns to Gyujin and smiles widely, “—or impossible?”

“Uh, what’s the difference?”

Changhyun shrugs. “One is more fun to try than the other,” he says, kicking a stone. “Hurry up, Gyujin, we’re almost there!”

Gyujin, as he follows, decides that Changhyun is strange — stranger than normal, different than him. Changhyun talks from a unique point of view, a new and fresh perspective that Gyujin hasn’t cared to think about. Sometimes his words are slow, like a turtle coming out of its shell to tell an old wives’ tale that hasn’t lost its touch. And sometimes Changhyun’s mouth goes a mile a minute, racing itself to the finish line, tripping over syllables and breaks but never faltering. He has the image of a child who knows too much about the world, or an adult who has let his mind run free. Gyujin is afraid that if he closes his eyes, if he looks away for only a moment, Changhyun will disappear like the hazy mist after a spring rain.

When Changhyun slows his step they’ve arrived at a grassy hillside on the outskirts of the city. There are small patches of flowers popping out of the ground, and Gyujin plucks one and twirls the stem between his fingers. He hands it to Changhyun instinctively, and the elder tucks it behind the strap of his snapback for safekeeping. Gyujin smiles, and soon Changhyun has gathered flowers as well, delicately decorating Gyujin’s head with the colorful petals.

Flower pollen staining their hands, the two of them sit side by side, overlooking the city, listening to nothing but the sounds of traffic in the faraway streets. Changhyun is warm, compared to Gyujin, and Gyujin wants to fall asleep here, in the grass, amongst the daisies.

Quietly, carefully, Changhyun takes ahold of Gyujin’s hand and raises it above their heads. “Look,” he whispers.

Gyujin does. The stars are barely there, dotting the expanse of the night sky. Traveling hundreds of miles above them, too, are a constant stream of airplanes — red lights, white lights, close enough for him to almost feel the wind as they pass. The sight is extraordinary.

“How do you feel?”

Gyujin glances at Changhyun, who’s smiling wide and keeping his knees close. There’s a sudden burst of admiration in his chest for the elder, and he squeezes his hand. “Wonderful,” he murmurs. Changhyun grins widely, and Gyujin wants to kiss him so he can feel what it’s like to live with one’s heart on their sleeve. The thought is short-lived, though, because he turns redder than a tomato and quickly focuses back on the sky.

After flipping off his hat and letting the flowers held there go loose Changhyun falls onto his back, spreading out his arms and legs, hand still clutched to Gyujin’s. “Are you flying?” he asks, pulling Gyujin down to join him.

Smiling, Gyujin finds himself pointing to the sky. “I love the stars. I love the view,” he says, “but I can’t say if I’m flying yet.”

“One day you will,” declares Changhyun, softly knocking Gyujin’s knuckles against his forehead.

And they stay in the grass, hearing the whir of planes overhead, wishing on stars that don’t shoot or fall, dreaming for things that could be real.

—

As Gyujin, Dongyeol, and Hwanhee walk along the sidewalk, their first meetup in over a month, the latter two are hesitantly muttering amongst themselves. Dongyeol nudges Hwanhee, who then bumps Gyujin, who in turn stops walking. Both of them cower as he spins to face them.

“Go on, you two, spit it out,” sighs Gyujin. “I promise I won’t bite off either of your heads. My mouth is too small for your egos.”

Dongyeol visibly recoils as Hwanhee blubbers, “Gyujin hyung, are you mad at us?”

“No? No, not at all,” says Gyujin, and it’s the truth. “Why would I be?”

Hwanhee bawks, “We dine-and-dashed. Left you for dead. Remember? At the restaurant? Dongyeol and I went to watch a movie together!?” For some reason, he looks like he _wants_ to be scolded. What a weirdo. “Don’t tell me you forgot!”

Gyujin slaps Hwanhee on the back, and Dongyeol winces at the harsh sound of it. “I remember,” he assures, and his friends whimper, “ _but_. I’m not mad.”

“Disappointed?” Hwanhee offers pitifully.

“Okay, you guys are my _friends_ ,” Gyujin huffs. “I’m not your dad, sheesh. I’m over it, I swear.” They reach the small, familiar restaurant and are seated promptly. The waiter — Kogyeol, but that can’t be his real name — gives them menus, silverware, and a pitcher of water.

“If you say so,” Dongyeol says, unconvinced. “This meal will be on us, hyung. Promise.”

“No need.” Gyujin hides his grin behind his menu. “I know the chef.”

 

 

 

 **dancing king: 7:46 P.M.** so can i spike their food. sriracha? habaneros? vodka?

 **FLYING FISH: 7:47 P.M.** HYUNG NO

 **dancing king: 7:47 P.M.** why not, they deserve it

 **FLYING FISH: 7:49 P.M.** Theyre both SORRY for what they did

 **dancing king: 7:49 P.M.** then they shouldnt have done it in the first place!!

 **FLYING FISH: 7:50 P.M.** Ok but!!! Then I wouldnt have met you!!!!

 **dancing king: 7:50 P.M.** well....... fine. no tampering with the food.

 **FLYING FISH: 7:51 P.M.** :) Thank you hyung <3

 

 

 **dancing king: 8:03 P.M.** ok so funny story

 **FLYING FISH: 8:03 P.M.** WHY WONT DONGYEOL STOP SNEEZING

 **FLYING FISH: 8:03 P.M.** HWANHEE WANTS TO CALL 119

 **dancing king: 8:04 P.M.** yea ok so funny story

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  credit @[imonstax](http://iamonstax.tumblr.com/post/140917625655/gyujin-taking-care-of-bitto)
> 
>    
> (if u liked this nightly adventure read ["let the darkness descend"](http://whateverbroski.tumblr.com/post/115838384962/let-the-darkness-descend) feat. kenbin (vixx) w/ literally zero coherency but i love it anyway)


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